


She Tells Her Story

by TinyNerdsbian



Category: Hamilton - Fandom, The 100, clexa - Fandom
Genre: F/F, Mention of Minor Character Death, Mention of major character death, Orphans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6567961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNerdsbian/pseuds/TinyNerdsbian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little prompt from a friend based on "Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story" from Hamilton.<br/>Clarke establishes an orphanage for Grounder children and tells them of Lexa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Tells Her Story

**Author's Note:**

> This nonsense had me so emotional, thinking about it, planning it, writing it and editing it, the whole shebang!  
> Listening to the song makes it simultaneously better and worse.
> 
> I DO NOT own The 100, Titanic, or Hamilton; take a look at my bank account and you'll know.

It's been twenty years, believe it or not, but Clarke’s heart still clenches with pride and the heartbroken tightness she felt every time she stepped into _Hou kom Leksa_ ; Lexa’s Home.

She started it about five years after she lost Lexa. Despite finding Luna and getting the chip in her, the war against Ontari was long and grueling, but most of all, it was bloody. Her time with the Ice Queen had irreparably changed Ontari; she was ruthless. In the end, they had her cornered and Clarke begged her to surrender, to repent and join them. In response, Ontari nearly took Clarke’s hand off, so Clarke uttered the four words she had grown so weary of saying before adding another name to her list of the dead; taking solace in the fact that Ontari looked at peace with her end.

  
Needless to say, the war had left a staggering amount of children without parents and many villages without the resources to care for them. With the help of volunteers from Arkadia and those still, and seemingly eternally loyal to Lexa, they were able to build a temporary home for the kids until a more permanent structure could be built.

It had taken the better part of two years to build, with Clarke pouring much of her own blood sweat and, most of all, tears into it.

In the beginning, Abby fought Clarke to slow down, to eat, to rest, soon resigning to getting more volunteers in hopes of taking some of the physical load off of her daughter; knowing full well that the emotional pain would never fade.

  
Clarke was a mess the day it opened, walking through the halls and rooms with the children, tightly wringing her hands as she tried to gauge their reactions through her exhaustion. Tears came to her eyes as several pairs of tiny arms circled her waist, letting them fall as the sound of small, cracked “mochof”s reached her ears. She led each group to their respective rooms personally, unable to hold back her bark of laughter when the older kids all but rejoiced at having their own rooms.

Her chest tightened painfully as she escorted the last and youngest group to their shared room, a six month old Trikru boy in one arm and a three year old Azgeda girl tightly gripping her free hand; the two of them sharing a special bond as the young girl was one of the first they took in. She glanced behind her at the tight knit group helping the rest of the children; the toddlers being their largest group.

Raven held the hands of twin girls, both perfectly content at taking their time as they were in complete awe of Raven’s brace. Octavia was acting as a human jungle gym, with a one year old seated on her shoulders, while a two year old and three year old clung to her legs, giggling as she “struggled” to walk. Even Indra held the hand of a small boy, almost three, who had yet to speak and rarely looked up from the floor, but smiled and blushed every time Indra addressed him as “strik gona”. Her mother rounded out the group with their newest and youngest member, a baby girl, nearly two weeks old, whose father died during a skirmish with a rival clan and mother who was lost after a lengthy and difficult birth. Clarke had made sure that someone would be with the kids at all times, Grounder and Arkadian alike; pleasantly surprised when both Raven and Octavia volunteered and her mother insisting on sticking around until the baby’s third month to ensure she was thriving.

She had gotten so caught up in the actual building process, getting electrical working - something she still had to thank Raven for - and getting the rooms and staff set up, that Clarke hadn't seen the exterior of the home until well after the children were settled, and when she did, she was eternally grateful that Octavia was there to catch her.

Shining proudly in polished metal was Lexa’s war paint design, embellished with her Heda jewel and coupled with Hou kom Leksa in a darker stained, but no less illustrious, metal. She turned, burying her face into Octavia’s braids, uncaring of the possible scene she was making as deep sobs wracked her body.

“Ya did good, Clarke,” Octavia whispered to the trembling form in her arms.

“Yes,” Indra stoically but firmly agreed. “The commander would be proud,” while Luna was the new commander, Lexa would always be Indra’s heda.

Octavia tightened her grip as Clarke’s body shook harder as the past several years of conflict, turmoils, death and exhaustion slammed into her.

In a moment, Luna was behind her, a hand on her back and mouth next to her ear, “Lexa **is** proud, Clarke,” despite tears still flowing freely, Clarke’s body stilled as it filled with a new sense of peace.

  
After the war, Clarke fought to end the Conclave, arguing that they had already lost so much during the war and even in everyday life that this was an utter waste; she wasn't lying when she told Titus it was a ridiculously stupid plan of succession. However, it quickly became clear that the Conclave was so deeply ingrained in their culture that she was fighting a losing battle. It was also brought to her attention that as the new and only Fleimkepa, it was her duty to uphold tradition.

So she did what she always does; she found a way around it while honoring said tradition and allowing Natblida children an actual childhood outside of fighting. _Wogeda kom Aden_ , a small camp just outside of Polis, opened a year after the orphanage. The camp was built large enough to allow the parents or families of young nightbloods to join their children if they chose. Combat was still taught by Octavia, but more in the guise of play. Children and their families would stay at the camp until the child came of age and sent into Polis to begin official training. Families had the option of staying at the camp, returning home, or joining their children at the Capitol.

While Clarke couldn't bring a halt to the Conclave, she did work to instill a new tradition honoring the fallen novitiates. Because they were in line to become the new commander, they too were honored through smoke signal; red for the commander, black for the novitiates.

Despite being unable to end the Conclave, Clarke often rejoiced that they were now few and far between; only three in the past twenty years.

  
Clarke adjusted the strap on her shoulder; it being the last visit of the month and their lesson being free choice, the children, once again, choose art. Even with the ache in her back and the constant tightness in her chest when stepping through the gates, she couldn't stop the smile that grew on her face when the kids ran out to greet her, pulling a laugh from her when they fought to hug her.

Her smile widened when a young Floukru boy shouted “tel osir op hashta heda!” over the noisy children, only to have the noise double as the others pitched in with their excited cries of “sha!”, “heda, heda!” and “beja!” She simply laughed again. This was nothing new. She had been telling this story every week for the past twenty years; it was always how they started her visits.

Her heart melted when the hand of a three year old Trikru boy slipped into her’s, his free hand gripping her sleeve; he had become especially attached to her as she had been the one to bring him to the home three months prior. The tightness in her chest loosened some as the children's excitement grew while they walked to their unauthorized storytelling spot, a fallen log in the middle of a grassy field.

“Ait, ait!” She laughed as their shouts reached almost epic proportions. “Geda yu raun.”

Her heart felt light at the eager faces staring up at her, always so excited to hear the story of her fallen heda. Despite the fact that she was almost positive most of them had it memorized, it almost made it feel like Lexa was there with them.

“You're the one…” Clarke always started the story with those three words, knowing her impression of Lexa’s deep commander voice always got a hearty laugh from the kids. Just as their fight against pauna drew gasps, their fight with Mount Weather called for both hisses and a few solemn nods; and because this was not just the story of the brave and beautiful commander who started the change of their ways, but also a love story, the retelling of their first kiss brought an adorable mix of grimaces and giggles; recalling their final kiss always brought tears.

The routine of their start was momentarily broken up when the little boy in her lap leveled them all with a very serious, but equally squeaky “mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke,” causing the group to dissolve into a laughter so strong that many of them were wiping tears from their eyes, Clarke included. She pulled him close, lightly squeezing him around the waist in unspoken thanks for the much needed laugh, whether or not it was his intention.

She watched the children lean forward as she approached everyone's favorite part, Lexa’s fight with Roan and her defeat of Queen Nia. Even to this day, Clarke could vividly remember the ceaseless beauty that was Lexa fighting. How she moved with grace and speed. How her weapons, regardless of shape or size, moved as if they were attachments of her own body. Regardless of how many years passed or how many times she told this story, Clarke was positive she would never do her love justice, but always took great pride in the unwavering inspiration shining in the kids’ eyes; inspired to fight like her, inspired to fight **for** her, despite her dying long before any of them were born.

“Always remember,” Clarke began seriously as she reached the end of her tale. “No matter what anyone says, no matter what anyone does, you are worthy of your name, you are worthy of your clan and you are worthy of yourselves,” as she set the boy on his feet and moved to stand, Clarke felt a light tug on her sleeve, just then noticing that none of the children had moved.

“Wanheda,” she chuckled at the use of the title that she couldn't seem to shake and at the fierce seriousness on such a young face. “That is not how you end the story.”

“You're right,” Clarke shook her head at her own forgetfulness. “Moba, ai strik gona,” As she retook her seat, she also pulled the black tinted paint from her bag. Gathering some on her finger, she began to outline Lexa’s warpaint design on his face - the boy undoubtedly being the commander’s biggest fan - and filling in the space as her usual ending found its ways to her lips. “Now you know there was a woman named Lexa and that she saved me in every way that a person can be saved. She exists now,” Clarke took a shaky breath and tears lined her eyes as the children joined her in reciting the last line. “Only in my memory,” she glanced down as tiny fingers lightly grazed her wrist.

“Feva en otaim?”

Clarke’s laugh was soft and watery as she added the last bit of paint to his face before looking into his eyes and then those of the other children.

“Feva en otaim.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hou kom Leksa: Lexa's Home
> 
> Strik gona: little warrior 
> 
> Wogeda kom Aden: Aden's Chamber
> 
> Tel osir op hashta heda: tell us about the commander
> 
> Sha: yes
> 
> Beja: please 
> 
> Ait, ait: alright, alright
> 
> Geda yu raun: gather around 
> 
> Moba, ai strik gona: I'm sorry, my little warrior.
> 
> Feva en otaim: forever and always 
> 
>  
> 
> While the quote is from titanic, I want to credit martinskisbond on tumblr for this beautiful gifset (http://martinskisbond.tumblr.com/post/142645536042) which inspired the ending of the story.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!


End file.
